


Day Seven:Florida at Midnight

by Elril_Silverstar



Series: Elril Does Writer's Month: August 2019 [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ficlet, Original Fiction, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20159224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elril_Silverstar/pseuds/Elril_Silverstar
Summary: Cycling at midnight.Prompt fill for Writer's Month 2019 day seven: sports





	Day Seven:Florida at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I have no idea what this is.  
It invaded my brain and now I'm going to torture all of you with with it.

It’s a breathless summer night as you careen down the road. It’s southern Florida and the air coats everything in a heavy, humid blanket. It sticks to your skin like spider web, but doesn’t hold you back as you pedal harder and harder pushing yourself faster and faster.

The ocean crashes to your right, and on your left skyscrapers rise, condos, restaurants, and hotels. It’s almost midnight and the streetlamps bathe everything in an orange light, glinting off your handle bars as you race onwards, northwards. The eternal sea to one side, and the ever changing city to the other, and you caught between. Balanced as if on a knife-edge between the life pulse of Earth and the buzzing chatter of humanity. 

Weaving through the traffic (yes, even at this hour) you enjoy how it feels to be small, maneuverable, not confined in a bulky hunk of steel and glass. You have no lights, some of the drivers see you, most do not and so you rush on like a phantom in the night. Those that notice you only ever react in a few ways: they swerve dramatically away, perhaps lean on their horns, or even yell rudely out their windows at you. It makes no difference, it only spurs you on. 

You tell people you like to cycle, that it’s your favorite sport. It’s only partly a lie, but cycling isn’t the real sport. The real sport lies in the beat of your heart against your ribs the feel of your lungs expanding and contracting. A pulse that mimics the endless one of the ocean, in and back out, a rhythm repeated countless times. Reminds you that you’re alive, mortal, and fragile. You might not be forever but for the moment you’re part of an orchestra older than time. 


End file.
